Author of "The Moral Pirates," etc.
Chapter VIII.
"Is that thunder?" cried Harry, starting up, and knocking his head against the canvas.
"No; it's a gun," replied Charley. "There's a vessel in distress somewhere near us."
As he spoke, the gun was fired again. "That was close by," exclaimed Charley. "Boys, let's run across to the beach, and see if there's anything to be seen."
It had stopped raining, but the boys were too excited to care whether it rained or not. They hauled up the anchor, pushed the boat ashore with an oar, and made their way rapidly across the meadow to the beach. It was already beginning to grow light, and they could dimly make out the form of a vessel stranded on the bar that lies a few rods distant from the beach.
"There's a wreck, sure enough," said Charley.
"Can't we do anything to help the men?" asked Tom.
"I don't see how we can. If the coast patrol was here, they might do something; but they don't patrol the beach in summer."
"Let's make a fire, anyhow," suggested Tom. "It may encourage them to know there's somebody here, and besides it will keep us warm."